As Sisters Will
by Jade1990
Summary: Short one-shots of the three Crawley sisters pre-series (starts from before Mary's birth and may continue through the actual series). Told from various characters view points. I own nothing - all characters belong to Julian Fellowes and ITV. Rated T for now, may change later.
1. Chapter 1

**1**

He can feel her eyes boring in to him as he paces back and forth. He knows she wants to scold him, _as if he's still a child and not a grown man of twenty, _because he's going to wear a path in to the carpet. She tuts a few times and he imagines she's rolling her eyes, although he's not sure if that particular action would be aimed at him or the young woman screaming upstairs.

His wife. His beautiful, young, _American_ wife. The wife he married to save this estate. The wife he came to love just days before they found out she was expecting. She's upstairs now, bringing his child into the world. His son, _he's sure it's a boy._ He can already picture him; a younger version of himself but with Cora's eyes- they're much more distinguished than his own.

His path has led him to the window overlooking his grounds. He can't quite focus on what he is seeing, all his other senses have somewhat left him blind to the view of the garden. He finds himself counting between her screams- _they're much closer together now- _and he just wants to _do something!_ But he must wait. It would be inappropriate for him to see her in this state. Besides, she has her mother with her-(_God knows she didn't want his!). _He is sure she'll be infinitely more use than him.

There is one final, drawn out scream and then all he can hear is his own blood pounding in his ears and a "well it's about time", from somewhere behind him. He finds he cannot move from his place at the window and the longer he stands there, the more aware he becomes that something's not quite right. He knows he should go upstairs, but he can't move, _this isn't right! _He feels a hand gently press his arm and glances down into his mother's anxious face –_my, did she look that old when she came in?- _she's saying something but all he catches is, "I'm so sorry" and then he's rushing out of the room, passing Dr Clarkson and a maid whose name escapes him.

In what seems like an age, and almost no time at all, he reaches her bedroom door –_their bedroom door-_ which opens before he can even bring himself to raise his fist and knock. His mother-in-law is on the other side, face pinched and pale. She ushers him in and guides him to the bed. His wife, _his beautiful Cora,_ looks exhausted and much older than her twenty-one years. The babe in her arms is still, _too still._ Her icy blue eyes meet his and then they are both sobbing and he's clinging to her and their son, because he knows now it is a boy –_his beautiful boy, _their _beautiful boy- _and he feels as though his heart will burst with the pain of it.


	2. Chapter 2

**2**

She watches him carefully; longing to reach out to him, to soothe him, but she fears he will find no solace in any kind word or gesture she may come up with. So she watches. He is not pacing this time, instead he's sitting to her left and taking great interest in the fireplace. His right leg bounces rhythmically next to her, causing her dress to rustle continually –_she'd berate him for it, if he didn't look like he was awaiting the grim reaper._ She watches him chew incessantly on his thumbnail, he hasn't done it since he was a child and _oh! how she longs to soothe him_.

It's Carson who hands him the brandy, and then promptly takes it back when his trembling almost upends it over the new carpet. She doesn't think he'd be able to keep it down anyway. Her own nerves are frayed, although she'd be loathe to admit it to anyone, particularly with Martha hovering about like some great-winged bat- _really that shawl she insists on wearing is _quite_ ridiculous! _

Cora's agonised screams seem to go on for an age, much longer than the last time –_her heart aches when she thinks of that dear boy-_ and Violet begins worrying her own fingernails just to give her something to do. She glances at Robert again and is dismayed to see his face has turned an ashen grey; she hopes he's not going to faint-_it's Cora, at the end of the day, who has the hard task-_ although she must admit that the waiting _is _quite agonising.

Finally she stops screaming and Violet finds she can't quite catch her own breath, until_...yes! _The unmistakeable sound of a crying baby- _it has a healthy pair of lungs on it, if nothing else. _A few moments later Dr Clarkson appears at the door, he looks tired but there's a smile on his lips that was not there last time. He comes closer to shake Robert's hand, Robert has yet to stand up and Violet's none too sure his legs will carry him up the stairs to meet his child.

"Congratulations Lord Grantham, you have a healthy baby girl". _Typical_, she thinks, but then she scolds herself, _at least the child's healthy, and they can always try again for a boy._ "And how is Cora?" she ventures to ask, as her son appears to be struck dumb. "Mother and baby are both doing well, mi'lady, plenty of rest is all that's needed now". She thanks the good doctor and then attempts to lead her son up to his wife. He seems to find his own footing once they've reached the landing, _once she's done all the hard work, _but he hesitates outside the door, the baby is no longer crying and the fear is etched onto his face. She gives him a gentle shove and he's through the door. She'll admit, grudgingly, that Cora is looking well, considering.

She edges along behind Robert and, finally, once he's clambered, _none too gracefully_, onto the bed beside his wife, she sees her grand-daughter. Most inconveniently she feels the hot prick of tears fighting to leave her eyes. She tries to hold them in but, _really,_ the child is quite beautiful. Such a dark head of hair and a white little face, with tiny rosebud lips (_that actually do bring to mind some roses that are growing in her garden). _Robert's positively glowing now, _she's sure that's supposed to be left to his wife,_ and he's rambling on about how much the child looks like her mother. Violet thinks she's more of an English rose than an American...well, an American _anything_ would be strong criticism indeed, _and she will not have _that_ levelled at this precious child. _

She gets to hold her, eventually, after that _ghastly_ woman has poked and prodded her for far longer than is her due. She's almost forgotten how wonderful it is to hold such a little life in one's hands; that slight, warm weight that just whispers of love and hope and dreams. Now, she's not one to descend into the dark abyss of sentiment, but she really cannot deny how much her cold heart soars when the babe finally opens her eyes to her and _my, what big eyes she has!_ They're brown, a very deep brown that Violet almost mistakes for black, _although that could be due to the dim light_. She's almost sure there's no one on either side of this child's family with brown eyes, but they're certainly captivating and somewhat..._shrewd_, for a babe a mere few hours old. She takes a strong liking to the way the child already seems to be judging the world and its occupants, _she's particularly gleeful that Martha elicited such a frightening scream from her, _and when the child wraps one tiny little hand round the tip of her finger she thinks, _yes, Lady Mary Josephine and I will get along just fine._


	3. Chapter 3

**3**

She wonders sometimes –_all of the time –_ if maybe there's something wrong with her daughter. The child's almost 14-months-old and, on the surface, is absolutely perfect. She has ten fingers and ten toes, rich dark curls framing a beautiful porcelain face, and wonderfully big brown eyes. But it's the eyes that bother Cora. As beautiful as they are, she cannot help but feel as though they are watching her every move; judging her, _accusing her,_ for being a bad mother, a useless mother.

Sometimes she thinks Mary hates her. She made the mistake, once, of revealing her fears to Robert, he told her she was being absurd, "the child's one", he laughed, "she cannot _think, _let alone _hate_". She doesn't mention it again, she pretends everything is fine now, but it's not. The way her daughter appraises her and finds her lacking with one swift look leaves Cora feeling cold.

She often sits in a rocking chair on one side of the nursery whilst Mary plays with her toys on the other side of the room. Mary's dark eyes constantly seek out her own, but she finds she cannot maintain the contact for long. She sees no love, or warmth looking back at her and it _kills_ her. One day, when those cold brown eyes lock onto hers she wonders what it would be like if her son had survived instead of Mary. She feels sick as soon as the thought crosses her mind, she should be imagining _both _of her children being with her, not pondering switching one for the other. She's sure, in that moment, that Mary can read her thoughts; that Mary knows she'd rather have her son with her than her daughter, _but no, she doesn't want that, she really doesn't! _She feels she should apologise to the child, who's still gazing at her- _has she even blinked?-_ but she's not sure how to phrase it. It enters her mind that maybe she's starting to go insane, _Mary's _driving_ her insane. _The tears fall thick and fast then; hot rivers of guilt flowing down her cheeks. She buries her face in her hands as her body is wracked with sobs and she prays that God can forgive her, _that Mary can forgive her,_ for having such wicked thoughts.

She flinches when an icy little hand touches her arm and the guilt rages anew when she's confronted with the wide, fearful eyes of her little girl. She looks at her then, really looks at her, and realises that her daughter is not judging her at all, she's just wary. She's wary of a mother who sits and stares at her from across the room, she's wary of a father who is hesitant and awkward with her, and she's probably terrified of her granny, _although she may just be projecting her own past feelings there._ It dawns on her then, _14 months too late, _she thinks, that Mary is just a _baby, _and she is her _mother, _and it's her job, not Mary's, to offer comfort and love. Otherwise, how will the child ever know how to show her own affections?!

She's not sure how long she sits looking into her daughter's eyes, _eyes she now finds incredibly precious and beautiful, _trying to figure out how to start making amends when she's interrupted by a gruff cough from the doorway and an, "I beg your pardon, Mi'lady, but.." her husband's valet gets no further before her daughter lets out a squeal of delight and throws her little body at the man's legs. He gives a deep chuckle, _that she's sure came from his shoes,_ before swinging her up into his arms and waggling thick black eyebrows at her, sending the little girl into a fit of giggles. Cora's heart breaks a little more when the child laughingly struggles to escape his tickling fingers with a high pitched "Cassy, stop!" The valet chuckles again and turns his kind eyes to Cora saying, "I'm afraid she hasn't quite grasped Carson yet, Mi'lady, but I daresay she'll have mastered it soon enough". He smiles at her then and Cora tries to return the gesture. She only manages a weak grimace as all she can think is _I didn't even know she could talk. _


	4. Chapter 4

_**Author's Note: **__There were a few grammar mistakes in the first few chapters; I think I've corrected them all now but feel free to point out any I may have missed. _

_This chapter was a little weird to write as I cannot remember what my thought processes were like when I was two, hopefully it isn't too far stretched. Enjoy :)_

**4**_  
_

It's very hot out. She can hear her nanny huffing and puffing behind her in the shade but Mary prefers sitting in the sun. She's currently watching a little red bug (_lady bug, _she thinks,_ the bug is a lady, like me)_ wander over a leaf. She wants to pick the bug up but she's afraid she may hurt it. She knows she doesn't like when strange people come and pick her up. She glances over her shoulder at the nanny who's reclining against a tree with her eyes shut;_ she's not sure why she can't spend the day with Carson instead_. Mary takes the opportunity to sneak back towards the house.

She is almost knocked over by her papa running out of the library but he picks her up as she stumbles, spins her around and laughs against her hair. She's not sure why he's so happy but she snakes her little arms around his neck and laughs with him. "Oh Mary, my darling", he breathes, "you're just in time. Would you like to come and meet your sister?" She's not _very_ sure what a sister is, exactly, but she does so like getting gifts so she nods at him and is swiftly whisked upstairs.

She's taken into a room she thinks is her mama's and, sure enough, there her mama is on the bed. She doesn't look very well but she smiles as her papa drops her on the bed. Her mama is holding some blankets, which she's sure contains this 'sister' she's been promised so she makes her way up to her side. The blankets are moving and making a strange noise and her heart soars as she pictures a kitten or a puppy struggling to get out and meet her. She's trying not to bounce too much on the bed but she's so excited now and everyone's smiling and happy and she's hoping it's a kitten, _she thinks she may prefer a kitten. _She's quite disappointed when her papa moves the blanket a little and she's confronted with an angry red-faced dolly, _she has plenty of dollies, she doesn't have a kitten. _ "Mary, sweetheart", she hears her mama say "this is your baby sister, Edith". She pouts a little and leans back on her heels. "Well...aren't you going to say 'hello', my darling?" Mary ponders for a moment then shakes her head and utters a resounding "no" before manoeuvring herself back off the bed.

She can hear the adults laughing as she leaves the room and makes her way back to her nursery but she's not sure what's so funny. Her eyes are starting to sting and she thinks she's going to cry. She doesn't want anyone to see her crying so she starts moving a little quicker. Once in the safety of her nursery she seats herself in the furthest corner and lets the tears run down her face. She doesn't wipe them away until she hears heavy footsteps coming closer to her. She keeps her face turned to the wall until she's physically turned around by two large, but very gentle, hands. She tries not to meet his eyes but he's got one hand under her chin and is lifting her head so she _has_ to look at him; and then he's wiggling his eyebrows and he looks _so silly _that she forgets about crying, and her _sister_, and not getting a kitten and just laughs and laughs until her tummy aches and everything is okay because she still has Carson.

Later on, when Carson's been called away and she's been left alone with her toys she lets her mind wander back to her sister, _she knows now she's not _actually_ a dolly. _Her request to swap her for a kitten was denied, many times, by her mama and papa, _although she's sure her granny may have been considering it._ She's currently trying to think of a name for the baby because, as she told her mama earlier, Edith is such a silly name and, if she _must_ have the sister instead of a kitten then she should at least get to choose a pretty name. She's used all her favourite names on her dollies, _and she doesn't think this new baby really deserves any of them,_ and her suggestion of just calling her 'the sister' was laughed off. She eventually decides that Edith will just have to do, and then she thinks maybe she'll just try and swap her for a kitten again tomorrow, _she usually gets her own way if she pesters long enough_.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's note: **_I'm afraid this chapter gave me a little bit of trouble, and I'm not _overly _happy with it, but hopefully it's not too bad! Enjoy :)_

__**5**

For a number of years now winter has been his favourite season; come rain or snow the festivities are lively and warm and full of hope. This year, in particular, promises to be a happy one; he's just been informed by his Lordship that he will be taking over the role of butler once Mr Cole retires at the close of the year. The promotion he considers an honour- _a testament to his work and dedication to this fine house and family._ His mother, before she passed, told him he was 'loyal to a fault', but he believes the Crawley's are a family who deserve his unwavering devotion. He's confident that he can reward Lord Grantham's faith in him by running the house to the best of his ability, being fair –_but firm –_ to the staff and protecting the family's honour and good name as much as is in his ability to do so.

He hums to himself as he dusts his Lordship's snuff boxes – _this may be the last time he's tasked with this particular chore – _so he almost doesn't hear the soft squeak of the door opening behind him. He knows who the intruder is without turning around, but he continues with his humming and feigns ignorance until she plucks up the courage to reveal her identity herself. She's taking her time about it though, and he's running out of boxes, so he turns around and then makes a great show of his supposed surprise (_startled gasp, hand clutching at his chest – he wasn't a hit on the stage for nothing!_), "Oh, my Lady" he gasps, "You gave me quite a fright!" His pantomime is rewarded with a shy giggle and a slight reddening of the cheeks but the child makes no other acknowledgement of him, instead taking a great interest in her shoes. He gives her time to compose herself, instead making himself look busy, mainly by picking up random objects and giving them their second dusting of the day. He makes sure to keep himself facing her so she knows she has his attention when she's ready to speak.

Eventually, after many deep breaths and false starts, she finds her voice. "M-m-mr Carson...I h-h-have a g-gift for you", with this she pulls one hand from behind her back and holds a tiny clenched fist out to him, all the while keeping her eyes fixed on the floor by his feet. When he reaches his own open hand to her she almost throws the object at him before retreating a few paces with a hurried, "I hope you like it. I p-picked it myself...w-w-without any help!" It's a quiet declaration, but there's no mistaking the pride in her high little voice. He pulls his hand back to study the prize and makes a great show of admiring and praising it. He's no sooner finished thanking her, _sincerely, _for the gift when she turns clumsily on her heel and makes her exit. She flashes him one toothy grin, _actually raising her eyes to his for all of a second, _before fleeing down the hallway and, presumably_, _back to the nursery.

When the day is finally over, and he's able to retire to his room, he pulls the gift from his pocket and really does admire it. It's a handkerchief; white and plain, but for a small embroidered bird in one corner. It's crumpled now, mainly from being scrunched so tightly in the giver's little hand, but it's a fine handkerchief nonetheless. It's a day early for the tradition of gift-giving, but he imagines this is to spare her the embarrassment of an audience. His heart swells almost painfully, then, when he imagines –_and appreciates –_ the steely courage it must have taken for the child to seek him out, alone, and present her gift in person. He thinks that makes the exchange all the more precious. He opens the drawer of his nightstand, then, and chuckles at the contents. While he's aware the drawer is meant to house the more personal items of his clothing instead he's faced with a plethora of oddments and drawings from a certain little Lady with big brown eyes and an uncanny knack for getting whatever she likes. He decides against adding the newly folded handkerchief to the contents, instead putting it in place of the one he had already laid out for use the following morning –_a special day deserves a special handkerchief, after all._

The following day, after the traditional gift-giving from Lord and Lady Grantham and the staff's Christmas dinner, he makes his way up to the nursery where he hopes to pass on some gifts of his own. Lady Mary is the first to notice him in the doorway and he can't fight the smile on his face when she laughingly throws herself into his open arms and squeezes his neck with all her might. She tries to encourage her sister to wish him a Merry Christmas –_he notes fondly how hard she tries to sound much older than her four years – _but to no avail. He crouches on the floor to dole out his gifts; Lady Mary receives hers with delight, _and a soft kiss on his cheek,_ whilst Lady Edith takes hers with a mumbled thank you and a slight smile. Lady Mary asks her sister what she's going to call her new dolly, he thinks she says Betty but her response is so low that he can't be sure, _and he won't make her more uncomfortable by pressing for an answer_. Lady Mary apparently understands her for she nods her head in approval and makes no further remarks on it, she only clutches her own toy tighter to her chest –_in all honesty, he's not sure whether the object is a dog or a mouse, and judging by the confused little frown on her dear face he thinks she's having difficulty deciphering the mystery too._ She informs him, anyway, that it's the best gift she's ever received and he's mightily proud of that, _even if she is only trying to be polite. _

He spends the rest of the day, whenever he has a free moment anyway, pondering on the two little girls playing in their nursery. It amazes him how different the two little souls are, in looks and temperament, and he wonders whether they will grow to be more alike or if they are destined to always be polar opposites. He's sure, at this point in time, that the only aspect that marks them out as sisters, _as being related at all, _is their rich dark eyes –_and even those are markedly different!_ He fingers the handkerchief in his pocket, occasionally, and he grins fondly at remembering Lady Edith's awkward style of gift-giving. It's true, he'll freely admit to any who care to ask, that Lady Mary stole his heart four years ago, _and has had complete control of it ever since, _but he thinks maybe, just maybe, _there may be room for another Crawley sister in his affections. _


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's note:** _First of all, thank you to the people who've reviewed this story, it's very much appreciated. Hopefully you won't be too disappointed by this instalment._

_Secondly, this chapter was initially from a different character's viewpoint but it didn't seem to flow very well, I think this turned out marginally better but it's quite late so my judgement may not be overly reliable! Enjoy :)_

__**6**

She slams the door as hard as she can, mainly to drown out the wails coming from down the hall, before she scrambles onto the bed and directs her own wails into her pillow. She can't believe her parents could be so _selfish _and now Papa is calling her a _baby_ and _oh, it's so unfair!_ It's bad enough that she must put up with _Edith_ who cries at everything, and insists on snatching toys that are _not hers _with her dirty stupid hands, but now she must have _another sister. _

She doesn't know what she's done to deserve this; she's been so good all year, _she's sure of it._ Well, she may have accidentally broken that vase, but she said she was sorry – _and Mama always said it was ugly anyway._ Oh, and she may have tried some of Papa's nasty drink that time, but he shouldn't have left it on the table if he didn't want her to drink it, _weren't they always telling her not to leave her toys out, if she didn't want Edith to play with them?! _Now that she thinks about it, she's been told off quite a bit recently, although she really hasn't done _anything_ wrong. It was hardly _her _fault that Edith took her suggestion to jump down all those stairs quite so seriously; it's not her fault Edith takes _any_ of her suggestions seriously_. Edith shouldn't be so stupid._

Once she's calmed herself down she starts planning what she can do to put things right. She decides against asking to swap the baby for something else, _if they refused to get rid of _Edith_ then they're unlikely to get rid of this one. _She could sneak the baby out herself, in the night, and leave her with a childless family in the village, _like in that story her Mama read to her._ But no, she doesn't think she'd make it there and back without getting caught, the baby would probably make too much noise and give her away, and she can't bear to be told off _again._

After pondering her options for a while it dawns on her that no one has come to check whether she's all right. She pouts a little as the realisation that _maybe_ _they just don't care _stings her little heart. She wonders, then, if maybe her parent's refusal to get rid of her sisters and their refusal to get her a kitten –_even though they got a puppy when Edith suggested it –_ are because they are actually trying to get rid of _her; _maybe they're trying to make her _so miserable_ that she just _has _to leave. She doesn't feel particularly angry at this thought, she just feels desperately _sad_ and more than a little lonely. Before she's even fully come to terms with this new development she's quite made up her mind to run away from home.

Suddenly she's pulling out her belongings and sorting the things she should take with her and placing them in a little travel case she got for Christmas. She doesn't think she'll take much; _she gets tired carrying heavy things,_ and once she's satisfied that she has all she'll need she starts to consider her options. Her initial solution is to go to Granny's; she loves her Granny, _and Granny has cats – cats that don't like Edith!_ But then she remembers that her Mama and Papa are _always _going to Granny's and that they may not like to see her there, _and maybe she doesn't want to see _them. Her only _real_ option, she decides, is to buy her own house somewhere far away, where they won't be able to find her. Once she's settled, she'll send a secret note to Carson, and he can come and join her in her new home and they'll have _such fun _and maybe invite Granny round for tea_._ _Yes, she likes this idea._

She's fairly satisfied with her plan until she realises that she doesn't _actually _have any money, which may be a bit of a problem; she knows she can't ask her parents in case they get suspicious, and Edith _certainly_ doesn't have any that she can borrow. The idea to _sell _something comes relatively easily to her, _although she's not completely sure where the notion came from_, and she decides that silver may be her best bet, _it's shiny, after all, so must be worth a lot of money. _She sets her plan in motion immediately, _there's no point in hanging around once one's mind is made up, _and goes to visit her favourite butler.

The trip downstairs proves to be both a disappointment and a success; whilst Carson refuses to give her any silver he _does _give her sixpence, and he only wants a kiss as payment. She's _quite _aware that sixpence won't get her far, but she's promised Carson that she won't run away _just yet _anyway so she'll put the money somewhere safe –_away from Edith's prying eyes -_ and start saving for her house. She doesn't think it will take her _too _long to have enough; she will just have to be a little patient. Besides, she'll probably have grown a little by then, and she'll be much stronger, _so she'll be able to carry more of her dollies, _which can only be a good thing.

It's two long days before her parents convince her to come and _properly _meet her sister – _she understands _properly_ to mean she's not to fuss or cry or sulk during the meeting_. Her Papa sits her on her Mama's bed, with all the pillows around her like a throne –_like she's a princess –_and then her Mama shows her how to hold her arms before placing her new baby sister in them. As soon as the baby –_Sybil, _she mentally corrects herself – opens two big blue eyes to her, Mary forgets about leaving home. It's true that another sister is the last thing she needs, _and she's determined to convince her parents _not _to_ _have any more, _but she thinks she may come to like this one, with her big shiny eyes and fluffy hair and, anyway, _she couldn't _possibly _be worse than Edith. _


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's note: **_My apologies, this has taken longer to come up with than expected; hopefully it has turned out okay. _

_I'd like to thank those of you who have reviewed this story; it's wonderful to get feedback. Also to Annie (I'm afraid I cannot reply to you personally as you're not a registered user) I'm glad you stuck with it, hopefully the italics don't annoy you too much!  
_

_Enjoy :)_

**7**

It's not what she expected, not at all. She thought being a mother would get easier the more children she had; _wrong._ She thought daughters would be a walk in the park; _wrong again. _She thought she'd be the one in control; _wrong, wrong, wrong. _Nothing in her life had prepared her for motherhood. No one had seen fit to warn her that, at best, daughters were demanding and difficult; she was raising Little Ladies, not Little Women, and apparently they were quite a different breed. Mary's bossy and overly opinionated, Edith's clingy and far too sensitive, and Sybil won't sit still for a minute and feels the need to question anything and everything.

An hour with the three of them together gives her a headache, an outing with them is enough to send her to bed for a week, but this, _this, _is beyond anything she's steeled herself for. Robert, of course, cannot possibly fathom what the problem is. He doesn't understand; he's been in London with Cousin James so often this year that he's barely seen the girls all together. He thinks his wife exaggerates, a trait common among Americans_ according to his mother, _and that the girls are just a little spirited, _she can think of a few other words to describe them. _Needless to say, her husband and their _dear Mama_ always get their own way and all Cora can do is smile and pray to God it's over quickly.

When the dreaded day arrives it brings the rain and her mother-in-law to the house and she feels she cannot possibly face the day without a sip of brandy _maybe two. _Her first task, once she's settled the Dowager with some tea and has left her and Robert to await their final guest, is to get her daughters dressed for the occasion. It's with a heavy heart that she ascends the stairs to the girls' nursery and pushes open their door to find...an empty room. Their clothes are all laid out on their respective beds but her daughters are nowhere in sight. She's about to ring for one of the maids when O'Brien arrives, slightly out of breath and pink cheeked, looking both formidable and determined in equal measures. "Mi'Lady" she puffs out, "I'm afraid we have a slight problem". "Can I assume this has something to do with my missing children, O'Brien? Or is there some other catastrophe I am to deal with, as well?" Miss O'Brien doesn't shrink under Cora's withering glare, only straightens her shoulders and inclines her head back down the corridor, "You best come with me, Mi'Lady".

She follows O'Brien down the corridor and the servants' staircase, neither woman speaking a word, until they reach the kitchen. The first sight to greet her eyes is Mrs Patmore rocking herself on a chair and wringing a cloth between hands that are almost as red as her face; the poor woman looks traumatised, and it's very evident why. Cora views the rest of the kitchen with mounting horror; the air is thick with settling flour, the floor is strewn with broken crockery and food and the kitchen maids are looking more bedraggled and dirty than a chimney sweep. Her eyes eventually settle on three little figures sat directly in the middle of all the chaos; Mary looks bored out of her mind and is distractedly dislodging some remnant of God knows what from under her nail, Edith is quietly sobbing and hugging herself whilst Sibyl delightedly licks jam off her hands. Cora is livid. She glares at the girls until, one by one their eyes are drawn to her. She finds she cannot speak to them and just points one trembling finger at the staircase. The two youngest dash past her quickly but Mary stands more slowly and, instead of doing as her mother bids her, makes her way over to the now sobbing cook. She places one lily-white hand on the woman's arm and says in a softer voice than Cora's ever heard her use before, "I'm very sorry Mrs Patmore, we never meant to upset you. We just wanted to help you make some cakes, we didn't realise it could get so messy". She lets out a nervous chuckle which is immediately lost amidst Mrs Patmore's strangled sobs and Cora forcefully manoeuvres her towards the stairs before directing her own apology towards the entire kitchen staff. She feels a pang of sorrow when she takes a final glance at the mess her daughters have made _that the staff will now have to clear up _before she follows her children up the stairs with O'Brien trailing in her wake.

They allow themselves, for once, to be washed and dressed with almost no fuss _although Mary must insist that she should be allowed to bathe without her sisters- a request that is vehemently denied. _They're a subdued, _and chastised, _little party when they arrive in the drawing room. Cora expects some remark of surprise at their melancholy state but one look at her husband and mother-in-law tells her they're already aware of the whole sorry tale. She almost feels sorry for the girls when Robert starts to berate them for their behaviour, but then she remembers Mrs Patmore's distraught face and decides it can't hurt for them to be further shamed. She manages _barely _to withhold a smile when Sybil innocently interrupts her father's sermon with a, "But Papa, have you tried Mrs Patmore's strawberry jam? It was so terribly nice; I do hope we can have some for pudding".

Eventually it's time for the main event; she's almost lost her dread of it now, _surely it can't be as bad as what's already occurred today. _She's pleasantly surprised that the whole thing goes off without a hitch. The girls are meek and polite and allow Mr Garner to direct their positions, and how to hold their hands, and when to smile. He takes six photographs in all and promises to have them delivered by the end of the week. The girls are praised for their good behaviour, but Cora insists they should not go unpunished for their earlier indiscretion. They're marched down to the kitchen after dinner to formally apologise to the staff, and present Mrs Patmore with some flowers, before being sent to bed without any supper and no chance to play. _At least,_ Cora thinks, _her husband can be in no further doubt of their daughters' _spirits.

When the pictures arrive a few days later Cora is a little disappointed. Oh, they're of a fine quality, and the girls look so pretty, but they just don't look like her daughters. In two of them Mary's eyes are downcast and she looks almost _humble,_ Sybil's only managed to smile on half of them and Edith's eyes are not once directed at the camera. They all look so dispirited and there's not a hint of mischief to be found in any of them; _it isn't natural. _She refuses to have them framed and placed about the house; instead she gives half of them to Violet and allows Robert to put the rest in his dressing room. Two weeks later she orders the photographer back and, this time, when she receives the photographs she chuckles and has them framed immediately. There're only two this time, Sybil wouldn't stay still long enough for more, but she thinks they're the most beautiful pictures she's ever seen. Her favourite one she puts in her bedroom and she smiles fondly at it every night; Edith sulking in the background, Mary mid-argument with the photographer, _one little eyebrow raised haughtily, _and Sybil sat on her knee happily munching on a biscuit. Oh, so her daughters are not perfect – _who is? – _and they are a constant test to her nerves, but she wouldn't change anything about them for the world, _not one little thing. _


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's note: **_So this chapter has proven to be a bit of a nightmare- it's been rewritten about four times and I'm still not happy with it, but I'm afraid it will have to do. _

_You may have to allow me some leeway with the introduction of certain staff members, as I'm unsure of when exactly they started working at Downton._

_Finally, thank you for those who have stuck with this, and those who have reviewed; it's much appreciated. Enjoy :)_

**8**

Lady Edith's sixth birthday looms on a particularly unforgiving late spring day. The weather is gloomy, the guests are despondent, and the entertainment has been abandoned due to the rain; only the birthday girl remains blissfully ignorant of the dour atmosphere. She flits happily about the room accepting well wishes and gifts from her miserable guests. Lady Mary, in particular, is doing nothing to disguise her displeasure; merely rolling her eyes and huffing every time Lady Edith trips past her with a beatific smile lifting her rosy cheeks.

Elsie shouldn't really be assisting in the drawing room but, with half the footman in bed with the flu, there's nothing else to be done. She's constantly reminded of the unconventionality of her presence by Mr Carson's twitching every time she approaches a guest; _he can twitch and grumble all he wants, _she thinks, _having maids in the drawing room hardly heralds the dawn of the apocalypse._ Anyway, she's quite enjoying herself; the party isn't really anything exciting, _quite the opposite, in fact, _but she keeps herself amused by making up stories about each of the guests or imagining them in place of characters from her favourite novels. She decides relatively quickly that Lady Mary will grow up to be an English Scarlett O'Hara; wilful, prideful and doing all she can to get her own way. Elsie's never been much of a fan of Miss O'Hara, but she can't help admiring her resourcefulness at times. She wonders, _a little wickedly, _what shade of purple Mr Carson might turn if she were to whisper her thoughts about his _precious _Lady Mary to him now. In the end she takes pity on him and, instead, resumes her game.

She turns her attention to little Lady Sybil who's currently sneaking biscuits off the table when Lady Grantham isn't looking. She imagines Lady Sybil will be the adventurer of the group; she's constantly finding her way to rooms that she has no business in or trying to escape into the garden when it's time for her bath or bed. She's still carrying enough baby fat to make Elsie want to pinch her cheeks every time she passes her in the corridor and she's innocent enough at three-years-old for her cheekiness to still be deemed cute, _unlike her sisters. _She thinks Lady Sybil may be her favourite, _and vows to sneak her a few more biscuits when she goes to bed. _

Eventually the adults come up with a few party games for the children to play and she watches on in fond amusement as the older children, _namely Lady Mary and Mister Patrick, _complain that they're too old for silly children's games. Unfortunately for Lady Mary her protests fall on deaf ears and, whilst the other protesters are allowed to watch from the sidelines, she is forced to put on a smile and play musical chairs and pass the parcel. She finds it quite interesting that Lady Mary goes out of her way to ensure Lady Sybil wins some of the games but refuses to offer the same courtesy to the birthday girl. One game of musical chairs ends in tears (_Lady Edith) _and yelling (_Lady Mary), _resulting in half the guests making their excuses to leave. She misses the initial altercation but apparently Lady Edith is a "_whiny brat" _and Lady Mary is a _"stupid head". _

Lady Edith remains somewhat petulant for the rest of the day, occasionally bursting into tears for no apparent reason. Lady Mary seems to recover much more quickly, although she limits her interactions to Lady Sybil and a couple of older girls, occasionally seeking out Mr Carson when he looks free. Lady Sybil appears very content with her eldest sister's attentions but often wanders over to the windows and presses herself against the glass _like she's trying to fall through it. _After witnessing this particular action a few times Elsie thinks Lady Sybil reminds her of Alice in Wonderland, _desperate to escape into a more exciting world; _Elsie hopes the little one will get to realise her dreams one day.

She finds Lady Edith the most difficult to compare to one of her heroines; the only likeness she can come up with is Amy March, because Lady Edith is a little bit..._emotional _at times and is constantly trying to prove her worth over her sisters. She thinks maybe she just doesn't know Lady Edith well enough to have a good handle on her character yet; _after all, she barely ever sees the girl. _She's used to finding Lady Sybil squirreled away somewhere in the house, and they've had quite lengthy conversations, _usually about her favourite foods or toys, _and Lady Mary is a constant source of talk among some of the maids, _unless Mr Carson is within earshot, _but Lady Edith is rarely seen and even more rarely discussed. She feels a little sorry for the wee girl; constantly in the shadow of her sisters, forgotten and overlooked to the point where she has to have an emotional meltdown to get any attention.

The next few weeks prove to be particularly busy for the staff; there are numerous guests arriving for luncheon and dinner sometimes with only the barest hint of forewarning_, much to Mrs Patmore's chagrin. _The weather also continues to be a problem; because of the constant rain the Crawley daughters have taken to playing games of Hide and go Seek all over the house, or coming downstairs to pester the staff. She's witnessed Mrs Patmore on numerous occasions patiently trying to explain to Lady Sybil why she can't help make the dinner, and more than once she's sought out Mr Carson only to find him in his office having a cup of tea with Lady Mary! Only Lady Edith seems to avoid the servants, unless she's following her sisters _and even then she hangs back a little, usually studying the floor; _Elsie often meets her in the hallways about the house but the young Lady always just scurries past her with her eyes diverted, often ignoring any greeting Elsie feels obliged to make her. The child's a confusing one, _that's for certain_; one minute she's happy to be receiving attention over her sisters and can talk a mile a minute, the next she's blushing when anyone so much as looks at her! Around the tenth time her greetings have been rebuffed by the middle Crawley Elsie decides she'll keep her attentions with Lady Sybil; the sweetest of the bunch, Lady Sybil brightens up many a rainy afternoon and Elsie thinks there's nothing better, in the midst of a hard and stressful day, than being awarded a beautiful smile by_ her favourite little Lady. _


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's note: **_Sorry about the delay with this chapter, it's a little longer than previous ones as it was supposed to be two different chapters but merged into one- I also struggled a little to get into this character's head -hopefully it's turned out okay. _

_Thanks again for all those who have stuck with this and reviewed, really makes it worthwhile. Enjoy :)_

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**9**

Grandmama arrives early one Saturday afternoon in a whirlwind of fur, lipstick and strong perfume. Edith's a little wary of her; _she looks even scarier than Granny! _Her orange hair matches the autumn leaves that are falling and Edith wonders if she dyed it especially for the season, or if it was that colour last time she visited; _she secretly hopes her hair never turns that particular shade. _She watches on a little jealously as Sybil perches herself on their Grandmama's knee, and Mary gets seated on the footstool at her feet; Edith remains by the fireplace, unsure of where she should put herself. Grandmama tells wonderful stories, mainly about Americans – _Granny leaves the room at this point – _but she also tells tales of their Mama and Uncle Harold, _who Edith doesn't recall ever meeting_, from when they were children.

After a little while Edith finds her Grandmama's American drawl pulling her closer to the little group. Just as she reaches the back of Mary's footstool, and is about to seat herself next to her sister, her Papa comes and orders them upstairs to change. As Edith goes to follow her sisters out of the room she's halted by a warm hand gently tugging her back. "Now then little one, why didn't you give me a proper welcome earlier? Have we had a falling out that I'm unaware of?" Edith's not sure what to say; she certainly didn't mean to _offend _her Grandmama _really she didn't, _she just didn't know what to say to her – _and Sybil and Mary said enough for the three of them, anyway. _She can feel her hands getting clammy where they're still encased in her Grandmama's and her cheeks are heating up, _she's not sure why really, but she despises people studying her like her Grandmama is now. _She keeps her eyes averted and tries to tug her hands away but the older woman is having none of it, "No, no" she says, whilst tilting Edith's head up, "none of this, now. You will look me in the eyes when we talk; you are Edith Crawley! And I expect you to stand tall and proud. None of this shuffling and slumping like a kitchen maid. Do you understand me, young lady?" It takes all of Edith's willpower to keep her gaze trained on the older woman's eyes as she replies, "Yes, Grandmama". "I'm sorry, you'll have to speak up, I can't hear you", is the response. Edith takes a deep breath and repeats a little louder, "Yes, Grandmama!" The woman just shakes her red curls and says, "No, it's no good, I must be getting deaf in my old age, you'll have to be louder than that". Edith giggles a little and shouts, "YES, GRANDMAMA!" and the older woman smiles then, and presses a soft kiss to the girl's cheek, "Now that's more like it!" She proceeds to lightly tap her granddaughter on the bottom and tells her to hurry up and change because she's '_so hungry she could eat a horse'_.

Edith spends the rest of her Grandmama's visit mimicking Mary's walk and haughty attitude and asking almost as many questions as Sybil. Whenever her efforts are mocked (_by Mary, usually) _or ignored _(by everyone else) _and she feels her shoulders curving inwards and her resolve slipping away she needs only to seek out her Grandmama's kind face, and one smile has her straightening her back and raising her head _and her voice. _

Edith begins to worry, as her Grandmama's visit draws to a close, that all of her efforts will be for naught; _soon she won't have such a friendly face to bolster her confidence or her spirits. _Her Grandmama is due to leave on the first of November and on the eve of her return trip Edith is feeling particularly melancholy. Her fears are somewhat alleviated when her Grandmama pulls her to one side and makes her promise to '_keep up the good work' _and to write to her about how she's getting on, or if she ever just needs someone to talk to; Edith imagines this will be every time she has an argument with Mary_ so she promises to be a very regular correspondent._

The rest of the evening is spent with the family huddled around the fire telling tales of ghosts and ghouls and monsters that carry little children off in the night, _apparently it's the custom to scare one another on All Hallow's Eve. _By the time her Papa announces it's time for bed, Edith is sat on her Grandmama's knee and clutching her Granny's hand, _she thinks if anyone can keep the monsters away it will be these two. _She finds she's glad _for maybe the first time in her life _that she shares a bedroom with her sisters; _even if one of those sisters is Mary. _

Her relief at not being left alone, however, is short lived. As soon as the girls are settled in their beds and the room is engulfed in darkness Mary decides to continue with their earlier activity; she tells a particularly chilling tale about a man who dies a bloody and painful death at the hands of his daughter and then digs himself free of his own grave before hunting down and slaying any child who resembles her –_particularly those with red hair. _She accompanies all this with occasional bangs and scratching on her bedpost, and when she's finished she pauses a moment before whispering across the room, _"Edith, he's coming for you_". Edith refuses to give Mary the satisfaction of knowing she's scared her so _with great effort _she says, in a steady voice, "Mary, this is no time for childish stories, some of us are trying to sleep". Mary, _of course, _is relentless and jumps straight into another story, and then another; the only thing any of them have in common is the preferred victim-type –_red-headed little girls._ Although she knows Mary is talking a_bsolute nonsense _she finds her body won't stop trembling and she's sure her sisters can hear her heart pounding whenever Mary pauses for dramatic effect, so she's more than a little relieved when Sybil whimpers, "Please Mary, do stop it, you're scaring me", and Mary finally shuts up.

Edith's barely in the grip of slumber when she's sitting bolt upright in bed with her heart hammering in her chest and her breath coming in painfully ragged pants. It takes her a moment to locate the source of her awakening –_a dragging sound followed by a light thump and barely audible scratching noises. _She glares through the darkness to where she can just about make out the darker mass that must be her sister's bed and hisses, _"Stop it at once, Mary! Nobody finds you funny!" _There's a rustling of bed sheets before her sister's groggy and indignant reply, "Oh, what have I done _now? _Stop being such a baby, Edith, _some of us are trying to sleep!" _

She settles back onto her pillows but she knows she won't sleep now; instead she's straining her ears trying to hear anything over her shallow breaths and heavily beating heart. The second time she hears the noise she knows she's not the only one; Sybil's trembling voice follows the scratching, "W-what was that? M-mary, is it y-you?" Mary's ghostly face rises a little in her vision before she issues a tremulous, "No, darling. I-it wasn't me". Edith thinks she'd be a little gleeful at the obvious alarm in her elder sister's voice, _if she weren't so terrified herself. _

She jumps about a foot in the air when Sybil issues a strangled scream and a choked, "It went under the bed. I saw it. Mary, it's under your bed!" And she's straining her eyes trying to see what Sybil's on about but all she can make out is Mary's startled face. Her sister lets out a breathy laugh before trying to reassure the youngest Crawley that she's imagining things, and there's nothing at all in the room apart from themselves. _Edith would be a little _more_ reassured if Mary's voice wasn't catching on nearly every word. _ Sybil is inconsolable; crying and hiccupping about how they'll be eaten by a monster and won't even get to say goodbye to their parents when, with a swiftness that leaves Edith wondering if her feet even touched the floor, Mary darts across the room and throws herself onto Sybil's bed.

Edith looks on a little enviously at the sight of her sisters huddled together in the gloom. She wishes she were as brave as Mary, _as she longs to go and join them_, but the visions swimming round in her head of hands reaching out from under the bed and grabbing at her ankles leave her rooted to the spot. She wishes she had her Grandmama or Granny with her now to hold her hand and whisper soothing words to her, _like she knows Mary's doing for Sybil, _but instead she must comfort herself. The tears come thick and fast and, before she can stop herself, she's sobbing and hiccupping worse than Sybil. _Wonderful, _she thinks, _Mary will definitely call me a baby now! _

She's distracted from her misery by the sound of her sisters fussing on the other bed. She glances up and, in the slowly lightening room, is momentarily muddled by the sight that greets her; Mary is crouched on Sybil's bed whilst their little sister makes a number of unsuccessful attempts to clamber onto her back. Edith's tears turn to laughter as she watches her siblings almost tumble headfirst onto the floor. The sun's almost up by the time Sybil is safely wrapped around Mary's back, _and Edith's terror has somewhat abated,_ but she's delighted that Mary still chooses to make her way over to her; she's moving much more slowly now, with Sybil hanging on her shoulders like a monkey.

When all three sisters are safely cocooned in Edith's blankets, _with Sybil sandwiched in between the other two, _the girls develop a case of uncontrollable giggles. Now that the sun's streaming through the windows, _and Sybil's admitted she may have imagined the monster under Mary's bed, _Edith feels a little ridiculous for being so scared. She's not sure why the noises in the night scared her so much, _it was obviously one of the servants moving about,_ or why she couldn't simply walk –_or run – _across the room to Sybil's bed. She does feel a little mollified that she wasn't the _only _one who was scared; but she vows not to be _too _cruel to Mary about that –_after all, she did conquer her own fears of unknown terrors to comfort _both_ of her sisters._

She awakens sometime later to find herself almost chewing on Sybil's hair and Mary's cold hand tickling her arm. She untangles herself from her sisters and goes to seek out her Grandmama –she makes sure to check under all of the beds before she leaves the room; _she doesn't think she'll tell Mary about that. _She finds her Grandmama as welcoming as ever and spends the rest of the morning wrapped up in her furs and committing her perfume to memory. She's elated when, before she leaves for the train, her Grandmama slips her a piece of paper with her New York address on and tells her she'll be waiting for her first letter; _she tries not to cry too much._

It seems to be an unspoken rule between the girls that they don't talk about their night-time terror and, _after a week of Mary sniping and snapping at her_, Edith begins to think she may have imagined it all. After one particular vicious spat with her older sister, _and once she's had time to regain her composure, _Edith confronts Mary about their mutual terror and her sister's surprising comfort. She's sure (or had been sure) that Mary would much rather see her torn apart by wild dogs than risk her own safety just to comfort her, but Mary merely rolls her eyes before huffing out, "Honestly Edith, don't be so ridiculous, we don't have wild dogs here! And besides, only _I'm_ allowed to pick on you." Edith hugs her sister after that and, although Mary only allows the contact for a brief moment, she knows everything will be all right; after all, she has a little sister who always makes her smile, a Grandmama who believes in her and a big sister to protect her- she thinks that's enough to be getting on with, _for now. _


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's note:** _This chapter didn't turn out like I was expecting, and I'm not overly happy with it. Hopefully it doesn't seem too out of place.I look forward to any feedback you can give. _

_Once again I ask that you grant me some leeway with the introduction of staff members...Enjoy :)_

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**10**

She's waiting nervously in Mrs Hughes' parlour; she's not sure how long she's been there but she's removed her coat twice because of the heat, and put it back on just as often for fear of appearing presumptuous. Finally, after her third or fourth tour of the small room, the door opens and she's greeted by a "Hello again, my dear, sorry for keeping you waiting; I'm afraid it's all hands on deck when there's a hunt on". The woman offers a kind smile that takes the edge off her severe demeanour, and gestures to a chair that the young girl gratefully eases herself in to. She can't bring herself to relax, _or breathe properly, _until Mrs Hughes has stated, for the third time, that she is officially an employee of the house and will be expected to take up her duties the following morning.

For the next week and a half she finds herself trailing after two other maids, ignoring the obvious advances of the first footman and jumping every time Mr Carson's booming voice catches her unawares. It's a huge house with a large staff, but she misses her family and mostly just wants to return home where she doesn't feel so lonely or out of place. She seeks out Mrs Hughes at all hours of the day and night for comfort; she's a kind woman, but even her matronly patience is wearing thin. It's with an exasperated sigh that the Housekeeper leads her back to her bedroom one night telling her to '_pull herself together_' and '_everything will look better in the morning_'.

Nothing looks better when she wakes up to a cold room and Chloe's surly attitude. She decides, anyway, to follow Mrs Hughes' advice and strikes out on her own, _so to speak. _She completes all of her duties without seeking approval from the other maids and she doesn't take herself off to Mrs Hughes' parlour on any of her breaks. She still jumps a little when Mr Carson greets her but overall, she's starting to feel a little better about things.

By her third week she's feeling much better about her lot; not _happy, _exactly, but content at least. She's now acquainted herself with nearly all of the staff, _although she couldn't claim friendship with any of them_, and she's met most of the Crawley family, although only briefly. It was a relief to discover that His Lordship was not the _'randy tyrant' _that Philip had tried to convince her he was, and Lady Grantham was very warm and welcoming, and the Dowager was only half as intimidating as she was made out to be –_maybe three quarters. _

As for the Crawley children, she's only met the two youngest, as the elder sister had been staying with her Aunt in London almost as long as she's been there. Lady Sybil she finds to be a delight; a pretty little dear with dark hair and twinkling blue eyes that reminds her of her cheeky little cousin, May, and makes her feel less homesick. Lady Edith's much fairer, _and quieter, _than her little sister, with soft red curls framing a round little face; her brown eyes are more cautious than Lady Sybil's, and her smile is never quite as friendly, but she's a pleasant enough child when she makes her presence known.

All she knows of Lady Mary comes from the staff, and the tales – _horror stories -_ she's heard of the young lady's behaviour makes her the second Crawley she's most nervous to meet – the Dowager takes the top spot _even though she's already met her on numerous occasions. _Although she'd vowed to take anything further her colleagues said about the family with a pinch of salt, she couldn't ignore Mrs Hughes' less than flattering description of the child; the words _'uppity', 'demanding' _and _'spoilt' _were repeated a few times. Only Mr Carson can find praise for the youngster but, she's come to realise that, he worships all of the family, _whether they deserve it or not. _Mrs Patmore also refrains from criticism, but only because she's far too busy making dinner to waste time discussing silly little girls.

It's with mounting dread that she discovers she's to dress the young hellion –_Philip's word, not hers _– for her homecoming dinner as Chloe steadfastly refuses to do so (_"I 'ave no issue with the little ones, Mrs Hughes, but I shan't be a whipping-boy for _her _any longer!"_). And so she finds herself outside of Lady Mary's bedroom, steeling herself to face a little girl. "_Get a grip_" she scolds herself before taking a deep breath and knocking on the door.

Lady Mary is a tall, pale girl of ten with deep brown eyes and dark hair reaching almost to her waist. She looks tiny in her big room – _not intimidating at all._ She seems distracted whilst she's being dressed and makes no attempt at conversation, just moving about like one in a trance. Only in the midst of having her hair styled does one lonely tear escape down her cheek and it's like a dam has been broken. She tells how she came home to find she's been moved out of the nursery a_s a surprise _but she can't claim to be happy about it at all. She knows she's getting too old to share with her sisters but she didn't think she'd be kicked out so soon, and this room is too big and empty and, besides, Sybil needs her to keep the monsters away. She's talking herself round in circles and getting more miserable by the second and all the startled housemaid can do is place a consoling hand on her shoulder and attempt to reassure her that things won't be as bad as she's imagining.

Once she's finished her work, and Lady Mary's dried her eyes and straightened her shoulders, she asks "Will that be all, m'Lady?" and the young girl gives her a small smile and a whispered, "Yes, thank you". She offers her as warm a smile as she can and turns to leave but she's stopped before she can reach the door with a "Wait, please...You won't mention this to anyone will you? This conversation, I mean?" "No, m'Lady, I won't tell a soul" she replies. The young girl's body visibly relaxes and she gives her a proper smile then, lighting up her whole face and she thinks, _she's actually quite beautiful. _

She keeps her word to Lady Mary by not telling anyone of the little girl's fears, _not even Mrs Hughes_. Instead she finds herself always taking her time getting the younger girl ready for bed. She learns a lot of the little Lady's secrets during these times_, and she finds Lady Mary is much more generous in her opinion of the staff than they are of her. _Most of all, though, she feels she's helping Lady Mary conquer her loneliness in that big, cold room – _and she relishes the chance to talk of her own home life and family with someone who genuinely seems interested. _She doesn't reveal the content of their conversations to any of the staff, not even Mr Carson, whose opinion of Lady Mary she comes to appreciate the most, nor does she tell anyone when she finds Lady Mary curled up in Lady Sybil's bed on numerous occasions, she only leads the sleepy girl back to her own room before anyone else notices –_she won't give them the satisfaction of having more to discuss about the child. _

She feels like she's finally found a purpose in the big house; _there are plenty of maids who can fold sheets and make the beds, but only she -_and Lady Sybil_- seems able to produce a genuine smile from Lady Mary. _She does think she's being subtle with her attentions though, so it's with pleasant surprise that she learns her efforts haven't gone unnoticed. She's just finished tucking Lady Mary into bed and is turning to leave when a small hand on her arm stops her. "Is everything all right, m'Lady?" she asks. The young girl looks unsure of how to proceed but eventually gets out, "Yes, I, well I guess I just wanted to tell you how much I appreciate all you've done for me. You've made everything much easier and, well, I just wanted to say 'thank you'". She's touched, truly, and in a moment of madness, or blind affection s_he can't tell which,_ she leans down and presses a soft kiss to the girl's forehead and whispers, "Nonsense, m'Lady, you've no need to be thanking me. I like to think we've helped each other". They smile at one another before she presses another kiss to the child's head and makes sure the blankets are tucked around her. "Goodnight, Lady Mary", she says, as she's leaving the room; before she's fully shut the door she hears a sleepy "Goodnight, Anna" and she smiles to herself and thinks, _Yes, I'm sure I can be happy here. _


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's note:** _Sorry for the delay with this chapter, I got distracted with another story I started writing, my apologies! I actually quite like the way this one's turned out, hopefully you do too._

_Thanks for your reviews:)_

_Enjoy :)_

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**11**

She's been so very bored these last few days with Mary spending more and more time with Granny and Edith pretending she's too grown up to play her sister's '_silly games_'. Normally, when her sisters are unavailable, Sybil would simply take herself outside and play in the gardens but it's been so _miserable _lately, and her Mama and Carson have been extra vigilant with regards to her whereabouts so it's been difficult for her to sneak out.

She knows her sisters are upstairs somewhere, now, _probably avoiding one another _and she'd like to go and seek them out but she can't bring herself to move from the window seat where she's tracking the raindrops moving down the window. She's willing them to race to the bottom of the pane but they refuse to cooperate. Every droplet seems drawn to another and when they meet and merge together she feels disappointed and a little cheated.

She tears herself from the window with a deep sigh and traipses out of the warm library and up the stairs. She doesn't knock when she reaches Mary's room but simply strides in and throws herself dramatically onto the bed with another big sigh, ignoring her sister's raised eyebrow and questioning glance. Eventually she hears her sister issue her own sigh before she comes and seats herself _a little more gracefully _beside the youngster. Before Mary can say anything Sybil groans out, "Gosh Mary, I'm so _bored. _I feel like the rain has washed all of the fun out of the world". Mary barks out a laugh that's neither ladylike nor sympathetic towards Sybil's misery, "Oh darling", her sister laughs, "must you be so terribly dramatic?" Sybil tries, _and fails, _to fight the pout on her lips which only makes Mary laugh harder.

Sybil knows that Mary's laughter is not unkind, however, so she ignores it and manoeuvres herself so Mary has to lie back on the bed and Sybil can snuggle up against her and she hums contentedly as Mary teases her fingers through her hair. Normally Sybil needs to be on the move, needs to be _doing _something, but she enjoys these quiet moments with her eldest sister. Edith doesn't have the patience or the tenderness to lay with her like this (_although she's sure she's the only person in the house who would describe _Mary_ as tender _or _patient_). She loves both of her sisters dearly, _of course she does,_ but she's always felt closer to Mary.

She hears the door click open behind her but she's too comfortable to move and look around so she doesn't know who has entered the room until her sister says, "I _knew_ I'd find the two of you in here". There's a bitterness to Edith's tone that Sybil's never understood and it brings out a sharp edge in Mary's voice that Sybil's never cared for, "What do you want, _Edith?_" she almost hisses. Sybil burrows closer to Mary trying to block out the scene around her; _she's always hated her sisters fighting._ "Oh I'm, sorry, _Mary_," Edith bites back, "Am I not _allowed _to join in the sisterly bonding session? Is that privilege only for your _darling Sybil?_" That stings. Edith may be a little harsh at times but her barbed comments are usually reserved solely for Mary. Sybil feels hot tears prick at her eyes when she realises that maybe it's not only Mary that Edith has a problem with. She doesn't want to be caught up anymore in their arguments so she tries to extricate herself from Mary's arms; Mary attempts to stop her but Sybil's _much _quicker and is soon running down the corridors looking for a room she can hide in.

She finds herself in the room Cousin Patrick usually uses when he stays at the house. She climbs onto the plush window seat and pulls the curtains shut behind her. The rain's coming down much heavier now and the droplets aren't so much joining together as they are obliterating each other, _she finds it all rather fitting. _She wonders if it's her own fault that Edith's displeased with her; maybe she seeks out Mary more than she should, _but then Edith never _wants _to play her games or tell her stories. _

She's been sitting there a while and has almost given up on hiding when she hears the door swing open and two pairs of feet sneak into the room. The door clicks shut and she can hear her sisters whispering in hushed tones, _of course they'd find her eventually. _The curtain slides back but Sybil keeps her face pressed to the glass, she doesn't want her sisters to see how upset she's been, _particularly Edith. _"Sybil darling", Sybil almost flinches at the endearment and chances a glance at Edith, who has the good grace to look a little ashamed of herself, before Mary goes on, "we've been looking for you everywhere. We want to apologise. I know you hate when we fight, but I'm afraid not all of us are blessed with your sweet temper and Edith and I have never gotten along too well. We do promise, though, that we'll make more of an effort to be pleasant towards one another". Sybil thinks that's a very nice sentiment but it's only Edith she's upset with at the moment, after all _Mary never used her as a weapon in an argument._ As if on cue, Mary nudges Edith and the middle sister coughs a little before muttering, "Yes, Sybil, I, er, well I'm very sorry. I should never have brought you into it before; that was very mean of me. I hope you can forgive me?" She sounds so hopeful, _and truly sorry, _and Sybil's never been one for holding grudges so she smiles at her big sister and shifts a little on the window seat so they can both join her.

When they're all sufficiently bored of staring out of the window Edith tentatively suggests they play a game, _a game of Sybil's choosing. _Sybil doesn't need asking twice and is up in a flash poking around the room looking for inspiration. She finds it in the wardrobe and the game is Pirates and Princesses. She ignores the unsure glances passing between her sisters and starts pulling out garments from Patrick's wardrobe. Mary splutters out a protest as Sybil launches a pair of trousers and a shirt at her but Sybil merely raises an eyebrow, _as she's seen her sister do many times, _and says, "Do you want to play, or not?" Mary grumbles out her consent, _on condition they don't leave this room, _and retires behind the curtain to change. Sybil's not sure when Mary became so shy about changing in front of them, _she _has no such qualms, and it's only a brief moment before she starts stripping off and getting into her own costume. Edith stands there fiddling with her dress sleeves looking unsure of herself until Sybil informs her that she doesn't need to change, as she'll be the princess. Sybil would much rather be a swash-buckling pirate than a princess, and she knows Mary would scoff at the idea of being a damsel in distress, but Edith seems happy enough with her role. They share a good laugh whilst trying to hold Sybil's trousers up with the curtain tie and Sybil thinks Edith's quite fun, _when she wants to be. _

They laugh even harder when Mary comes out from behind the curtain. She stands with her arms folded and a petulant look on her face as her younger sisters cling to one another and Edith breathes out, between giggles, "Oh Mary, you look positively _indecent!" _Mary glares at her sister and huffs, "Well it's hardly _my _fault Patrick refuses to grow". Her trousers, in particular, look uncomfortably tight and Sybil, despite her laughter, appreciates that Mary is still willing to participate.

The game goes on for a long time; they use Patrick's bed as their ship and a small table as a plank that they continually make Edith walk along and Sybil doesn't think she's ever had so much fun in her life. The game comes to a sudden and bloody end when Edith trips off the end of the 'plank' and hits the floor face first. Her nose is bleeding quite heavily and she's whimpering in pain as Sybil rushes to her side and tries to soothe her, but it's Mary who puts a plan into action and supports Edith as they head downstairs in search of Carson.

They're only halfway across the entrance hall when a voice booms out behind them, "WHAT ON _EARTH _DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?" Sybil's never heard her father quite so angry so she has to steel herself before she turns to face him, "Um, Papa, we-we-re just taking Edith to Mr Carson, she's hurt her nose...It's bleeding". Her Papa seems to find this explanation lacking and the look he levels at her leaves her feeling a little cold. She wishes her sisters would say something but they're both still facing the other way, barely moving a muscle. Eventually their father orders her to escort Edith downstairs to Mrs Hughes. When they reach the door that will lead them downstairs Sybil chances a glance back at her other sister; Mary is still staring after them but offers a weak smile which only falters when their father barks out, "Mary. Library. Now."

Mrs Hughes is very kind to the girls and fixes Edith up relatively quickly, although there's not much she can do for the purple bruise slowly making itself known across Edith's face. When Sybil innocently wonders why their Papa was so angry, and why he only wanted to speak to Mary she notices Mrs Hughes gets a little uncomfortable, and Edith tries hard to fight a smirk. "Well, my lady", Mrs Hughes starts hesitantly, "I think Lord Grantham was probably a little upset to see Lady Edith hurt and just wants to get to the bottom of why it happened". Sybil thinks this makes sense, after all Mary would probably explain things _much better _than she could, she'd just be tumbling over her words whereas Mary won't let Papa's anger affect her. Once she's done all she can for Edith, Mrs Hughes packs the girls off upstairs with some biscuits complementary of Mrs Patmore; Sybil's allowed to take some up for Mary _although she may have a_ccidentally _eaten one of those herself. _

She leaves Edith in the hallway and goes in search of her eldest sister to bestow the remaining biscuits on her. Instead of Mary, she finds her Papa alone in the library. He's facing the window she was looking out of before and she wonders if maybe he's tracking the raindrops _like she was earlier. _The thought makes her smile and she greets him brightly and asks if he knows where Mary is. He doesn't return her smile, when he eventually turns to her, _and the biscuits are getting warm and mushy in her hand_. "Sybil" his tone is low and resigned "Go upstairs at once and change out of that _ridiculous_ outfit. I don't want to see you or your sisters until dinner", with that he turns back to the window and Sybil considers herself well and truly dismissed.

On her way upstairs she considers the injustice in her father's words; _ridiculous,_ she thinks, _he never says the clothes are ridiculous when _Patrick _wears them. _She giggles as she catches a glimpse of herself in the glass of a picture and thinks _maybe I do look a little silly. _She decides, as she nears Mary's room, that her sister won't like the biscuits that are now crumbling in her hands so she finishes them off _like a good sister _before opening the door to her bedroom.

She's happy to see, when she walks in, that Mary hasn't changed yet but her joy is short-lived when she realises her sister is too preoccupied with sobbing her heart out to bother with changing. Sybil's never seen her sister like this before, _and she doesn't like it._ "Mary" she breathes out. She doesn't get any further before her sister hiccups and growls out "_Leave me alone, Sybil_". Sybil can't stop her own lip trembling then, _Mary's never spoken to her like that, _but she refuses to abandon her sister now. She climbs up onto the bed and wraps her arm around Mary, pressing her face between her sister's shoulder blades. Despite her earlier order, Mary doesn't protest, she only places her own hand over Sybil's where it rests on her stomach and makes a determined effort to control her tears.

The two girls don't exchange anymore words but, eventually, Mary lets out a soft sigh and turns onto her back so Sybil can rest her head on her shoulder. She presses a sweet kiss to Sybil's head and starts playing with her hair again. "Mary" she tries for a second time, "Please don't be sad. I'm sure Papa doesn't mean it when he says we can't wear our outfits again". Mary's laughter rumbles through her own chest into Sybil's and Sybil can't help but join in, _even though she's not entirely sure what Mary finds so funny_. "Oh Sybil," Mary finally gets out, "You're such a darling. Don't ever change!"

This time, when the door opens, Sybil has no doubt as to whom their visitor is. She almost wants to tell Edith to leave them alone; _she can't bear for them to start arguing, especially as Mary's finally smiling again. _Her sisters surprise her, however; Edith doesn't utter a word and Mary doesn't protest when the redhead climbs onto the bed behind Sybil and snuggles up with them. Sybil's a little ashamed to acknowledge the brief stab of jealousy that stings her as Mary's hand leaves her own hair to start playing with Edith's. She must be pouting a little too obviously because Mary suddenly chuckles and orders her to lie on her other side before continuing her earlier ministrations. From her new position she has a good view of Edith's face and she has to stifle a gasp on first glance; _she looks awful! _She won't tell Edith that though, she wouldn't like to be unkind, so she only offers her a reassuring smile and asks if it still hurts. According to Edith, she's lucky she doesn't have to have it cut off; Sybil doesn't remember Mrs Hughes expressing any such notion but she's saved from pointing this out when Mary jokes it might have been an improvement. Sybil squirms waiting for a fight to break out, but Edith seems to accept it in good humour and merely pokes Mary in the ribs before cuddling in closer.

The girls stay huddled together for what seems like hours; Mary tells stories, Sybil talks of the places she wants to travel to and Edith makes suggestions on how they can get Fraulein Heinen to leave. They're not disturbed until Anna comes in to get Mary ready and send the others back to their room; _if she's shocked at their choice of clothing, she doesn't show it_. Sybil practically skips to her room, holding Edith's hand, and she can't keep the grin off her face all through dinner. She remains quite oblivious to her Granny's disapproving looks, her Mama's fussing over Edith's face and her Papa's frosty attitude towards Mary; she's just so happy her sisters are getting along and not snapping at one another all the time. She vows to enjoy the newfound peace between the Crawley sisters and make the most of it by thinking up more games they can play together; as she's completely certain the truce won't hold up forever, _or even for the rest of the week._


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's note: **_Really sorry for the very big delay with this chapter, I kind of lost inspiration and I re-wrote it about five times; they were all rubbish but this turned out to be the best of a bad bunch (which doesn't say much, I'm afraid)._

_I didn't want to go over it too much because I'd end up scrapping it along with the others so my apologies for any spelling mistakes and whatnot. _

_This chapter doesn't haven't much in the way of sisterly interaction, but I wanted to properly introduce a certain character as they'll be causing some problems in the future... Enjoy :)_

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**12**

He's not really sure how he ended up with three children and not an heir in sight. All of his life he'd been told "when you have a son of your own", and "you can teach this to your son one day"; nobody thought to inform him of what would happen if he never had a son. It's been eight years since Sybil was born; eight long years of trying again and again for a boy, _not that he actually minds the trying part. _If only their sweet baby boy had survived he wouldn't constantly be plagued by this raging headache. He's painfully aware that James' visits to the house have increased tenfold in the last few years _and he's almost sure it's not purely for the company. _He can see James leading his son around the grounds and he knows he's preparing him for the life he will one day have, _the life _his_ children should be preparing for instead. _

He can't really blame James, he supposes; it's not his fault Robert has failed where he succeeded. _Have I really though? _Robert thinks; _have I really failed?_ He doesn't feel like he's failed, after all he has three beautiful, talented and charming daughters and he knows he would never exchange any of them for the world. He wonders if maybe it's the world that's failed; who has the right to say that Robert cannot leave everything to his children, just because they are the 'wrong' sex? Well, he probably mainly has his own father to blame for his current predicament; he was the one who sealed up the entail good and tight. Oh, but it makes him so mad to think his girls must be passed over for his cousin, who really should have no claim whatsoever on his home and his wife's money;_ it's blastedly unfair_, he thinks.

He has every faith that his cousin will run the estate well, _although maybe not with quite the same level of fairness that he employs, _but he also knows that James is greedy and only has a passing interest in the girls. Robert _has _to be assured of their future, he needs to know that they'll be provided for and looked out for and, unfortunately, he's not sure he'd willingly entrust their welfare to James. His only consolation is Patrick. At fifteen his cousin's boy is already proving to be nothing like his father, with his late mother's fair features and sweet temper the young lad is unfailingly kind and attentive to his younger cousins and Robert has no doubt he'd happily provide for them. The only problem is that it will probably be a long time before Patrick inherits, and Robert cannot be sure his girls will be looked after in the interim.

After a few days of agonising over the best course of action to take to ensure his daughters' futures Robert is faced with a very short list of possibilities; namely making sure his daughters marry well, and most importantly, that one of them must marry Patrick. He's sure it's the only foolproof way of keeping the house in the family, and at least his title will go to his Grandson, _Heaven providing one is produced. _It's this thought that is at the forefront of his mind when James and Patrick come to stay for the holidays.

Over the first few days of their visit Robert tries to subtly observe Patrick's interactions with his daughters. The mere thought of Sybil marrying anyone at the moment is utterly absurd to him, _even if it is a hypothetical wedding many years away, _and Edith, although older in years, often seems so terribly young and meek that Robert can't really imagine anyone taking a romantic interest in her; it pains him to think it but it's the truth, he just hopes she comes out of herself a little more in the future. That leaves Mary and, as the eldest and natural heir (had she been a boy), she seems the most sensible choice. He has no doubt that Mary would be a good mistress of Downton, _she'd probably run it better single-handedly than all of its previous masters put together, _and he knows that, although she's only thirteen, she has an invested interest in the place that could only be rivalled by his own.

He refrains from mentioning his scheme to his wife or mother, he's sure they wouldn't approve of him pairing Mary up with anyone at such a tender age, but it's not like he'd want them to marry tomorrow, or even get engaged so soon, he just wants to be sure it's a viable option. He's aware his wife is a little suspicious that he's spending so much time interacting with the youngsters rather than his cousin, but he really can't help himself; _now the idea is in his head it won't leave him alone._

So far he's seen nothing to raise his hopes, just a young lad and his younger cousins trying to find one topic or game that they all might find somewhat interesting; most of Sybil's suggestions are too childish for the others and Edith's are a little dull, whilst Mary often just wants to be left alone. Robert appreciates the effort Patrick goes to to involve all of the girls in everything and he feels almost reassured that, no matter what, his daughters will have one good soul looking out for them.

On Christmas Eve one small event sparks off a chain of occurrences that leave Robert feeling both hopeful and more that a little apprehensive. The family all gather in the drawing room for a little evening carol concert and Robert's pleased to see Patrick's request for a duet with Mary is accepted with little fuss. The pair's rendition of 'Angels We Have Heard on High' almost has him in tears, although he's not sure whether it's because their voices fit so beautifully or because he's plotting to marry off his little girl when she's still little more than a child. Despite his inner conflicts he cannot ignore the flicker of hope in his chest when he notes how Patrick hovers around his eldest daughter for the majority of the family festivities; he chooses to ignore the fact that Mary is not overly receptive to his attentions. _It's a start, _he thinks.

Unfortunately, despite Patrick's best efforts, he can never seem to find a minute alone with Mary; either because Mary seems hell-bent on escaping him, or because Roberts middle daughter has taken to trailing after him like a lost puppy. Robert's more than a little disconcerted at witnessing the looks of sheer adoration that Edith keeps levelling at her cousin. Patrick, to his credit, doesn't scold Edith for scuppering his chances with her sister; Robert watches him give in to Edith's whining for him to sing another song, and he does so with a smile on his face. Although Edith's a little clumsy on the piano, _due mainly to her inability to keep her eyes on the music sheet_, the song comes off relatively well and both receive the praise of their family with much glee.

It's only when Patrick slips quietly out of the room that Robert realises Mary is no longer sat with them. He makes his own hasty exit after his young cousin; _as much as this is what he's wanted, he still firmly believes Mary is far too young to be having suitors. _He spots Patrick entering the library and follows after him as quietly as possible. He's relieved to see the library door still marginally open; enough for him to peer around without being overly obvious to the room's occupants. Mary is stood by the window. He can tell, even with her back to him, that she's scowling out at the snow. Patrick is stood a little behind her, seemingly unsure of himself and Robert's not completely sure whether Mary's aware of her audience.

He's not left to wonder long as Mary sighs a little and mutters, "Honestly Patrick, I don't know how you manage to be so _nice_", she spits the word out like it's a curse, "all of the time. It's exhausting just to listen to you". Robert thinks she's being more than a little unkind, but he can't say so without revealing himself as an eavesdropper. Patrick doesn't seem too put out, he merely chuckles and replies, "I hardly notice at all; I'm sure it takes much more effort to think up cruel jibes and pretend a disinterest in everything around you". Mary whips around at that and Robert's almost startled at the anger in her dark eyes; Mary hardly ever shows any sort of emotion. "Well if that's what you think of me" she bites out, "You can stop following me around everywhere like a second shadow! In case you haven't noticed, Patrick, I find you rather dull, and I'd much rather you just left me alone". "You don't mean that" Patrick replies, in a calm manner that Robert's sure will get right under Mary's skin. His daughter draws her shoulders back and, in a tone that leaves no doubt that her words convey the highest of insults, states "I'd much rather spend time with _Edith _than with _you_".

Roberts saved from tripping over his own feet in a hasty exit as Mary heads towards his hiding place, by Patrick restraining her by the arm as she tries to walk past him. Robert doesn't like how close the two are now standing and has almost resolved to reveal his presence and disturb the pair when he's shocked into paralysis by Mary swiftly raising onto her tiptoes and cutting off Patrick's next declaration with a soft kiss. She doesn't hang around to witness Patrick's reaction, _not that the poor boy seems in any fit state to offer one, _and Roberts too numb with shock to do anything but stand staring dumbly at the scene before him, so it's not long before Mary's yanked the door completely open and Robert finds himself staring into the wide and fearful eyes of his eldest daughter.

After what feels like a lifetime Robert finds his voice and utters, somewhat shakily, "Your mother is looking for you". The claim sounds false, even to his own ears, but Mary needs no further excuse to flee from what's sure to be a particularly uncomfortable conversation with her father. Once she's scarpered Robert is confronted with another pair of fearful eyes; these ones, unlike his daughters, are a clear grey and belong to a lanky figure that seems to shrink under Robert's gaze. Once Robert's brain starts functioning again, he steps into the room and closes the door quietly behind him. The gesture must come off more menacing than he intended as he sees Patrick visibly gulp and retreat a little further into the room; _good, _Robert thinks, _let him worry. _The truth is, though, that Robert's not actually angry; he was fifteen once himself and, really, Patrick's done nothing wrong, _Mary is the one who planted the kiss. _Robert feels, however, that he needs to nip this in the bud quickly; Patrick may be turning into a young man, but Mary is still a young girl and it's Robert's job to protect her.

"Patrick" he begins, "You know I care for you, and I'm glad you and the girls get on so well, but", "Please, Cousin Robert," Patrick interrupts, "what you saw, that, that wasn't what it, I mean, I didn't mean for". Robert chuckles a little at Patrick's stumbling and places a reassuring hand on his shoulder, "Please Patrick, let me finish", Patrick nods, although he still looks a little unsure, and Robert continues, "what I saw was you and my daughter having an altercation and then her kissing you. Now, as you can imagine, that's not something a father wishes to witness of his little girl, but I understand it happens. What I want you to promise me is that it will not happen again" Patrick looks a little crestfallen, and Robert almost feels sorry for him, so he pushes on, "at least not for a long while yet. Mary is still very young, Patrick, and whilst I would be more than happy to see her courted by a young man such as yourself _in the future, _right now you must keep your attentions as that of a cousin and friend, nothing more, do I make myself clear?" Patrick finally raises his eyes to the elder Crawley's and takes a deep breath before uttering, "You do, cousin Robert, and I want to thank you for being so understanding. I promise I'll do as you ask, but I want you to know that I do truly care for Mary, and I would only ever want what's best for her, whether that be me or, or not".

After he's dismissed Patrick, Robert takes up Mary's previous position at the window and contemplates whether or not he wants to confront his daughter. He believes that Patrick will keep his promise to not pursue Mary any further, for the time being; but he knows his daughter, and if she so much as suspects he's interfering in her life she'll dig her heels in and become impossible to deal with. He's sure that at the first sign of a rebuff from Patrick her ardour will be dampened and she'll move on to some other pursuit, so it's best if he just remains calm and lets it run its own course. Besides, he's sure the fear of what he might say or do is enough to keep her on her best behaviour, _at least for the remainder of Patrick's visit._


	13. Chapter 13

**Author's Note:** _My sincerest apologies for the delay with this chapter; work took over my life for a few months, but I should have more free time now to finish this. __  
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_You'll have to forgive me any mistakes in this chapter, I just wanted to get it uploaded so I haven't really checked over it. Hopefully it hasn't turned out too badly. Enjoy :)_

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**13**

It's abhorrent really, when she thinks about, and she thinks about it a lot; she just can't begin to comprehend how it happened, or why. It's typical really, Mary gets everything; the attention, the best clothes, why would this be any different? But she thought it would be different, _she thought he was different._ Sometimes she thinks she's the only one to see Mary for what she truly is; a heartless, selfish, wanton brat. Of course she rarely ever expresses this opinion to her family, when she does they just look at her with pitying smiles, _which she hates, _or she's accused of being jealous and spoiled. _Her _jealous of _Mary. _She's not, truly she's not, she just hates any sort of injustice and this, in her honest opinion, is injustice of the highest form.

She first noticed something had changed over the summer. Her Papa was travelling to London with Cousin James and Patrick; so far, nothing unusual. The boys, as Mama called them, often took long trips down to the city; they'd stay for a month, maybe two and then return in time for the summer festival in the village. On this occasion, however, Papa had shocked them all by announcing he would be taking Mary along to London. Granny was utterly scandalised that her 14-year-old granddaughter would be spending so much time in the company of grown men, regardless of whether they were her family or not. For once her Mama actually agreed with her Granny, and her Papa spent many days negotiating terms with the two women until they finally agreed that the oldest Crawley sister could spend the summer with her father and cousins. Even then she didn't _really _sense that anything was amiss, she just accepted it as another instance where Mary was being favoured over herself.

No, Edith really didn't notice that anything had changed at all at that point. In fact, once the group had gone, she spent a very enjoyable summer playing at being the oldest sister; she found Sybil to be much better company without Mary influencing her every move, and she actually found her mother willing to listen to her at dinner rather than having to be bored with her sister's long-winded stories that the adults found oh so amusing; _yawn. _

On the morning of the group's return, Edith requests that Anna take extra care when styling her hair; if the maid is surprised at the request, she doesn't show it. When she hears the carriage drawing up she practically skips down the stairs to the hall; she wonders briefly if her Papa has brought her any presents back, but her thoughts are mostly trained on the flaxen-haired youth striding up the front steps and warmly greeting her mother and granny. _Patrick. _Her heart starts beating wildly in her chest as he plants a chaste kiss on her cheek and she can feel her skin burning where his lips had touched her. She almost misses the smirk on her elder sister's face as Mary graces her with her own tight-lipped peck, but she doesn't miss the snide glee in her voice as she whispers, "Keep dreaming, little sister", before flouncing off after their cousin.

Edith watches the pair closely after that; she sees all of the whispered conversations, the secret little touches that her parents miss, _or pretend not to see, _and, most of all, she sees their coinciding absences from the drawing room. Her insides clench painfully every time she witnesses Patrick fawning over her sister like a lovesick schoolboy, and when she watches Mary's hand caress Patrick's arm, or hand or, once, his leg! She hates the way seeing them together makes her feel, she hates how it keeps her up at night, she hates how pathetic she's become, but she cannot stop herself from watching them, from trying to decipher their secret conversations, or from hoping beyond belief that Patrick will come to his senses and realise he doesn't want her sister, after all.

A week or so after the group's return from London, Edith joins her whole family on a picnic in the grounds of Downton. She tries her very hardest, _really she does, _to train her attention on Sybil, or her food but it's _so difficult _when all she can hear is Mary's tinkling laughter coming from the other side of the lawn. The sound grates on Edith's nerves, it sounds false and gratuitous, and she knows if she turns around she will see her dear Patrick bending over backwards trying to elicit the sound once more. She starts to develop a migraine from the strain of blocking out the unwanted noise so she suggest to Sybil that they should go for a paddle in the lake on the outskirts of the grounds.

The distraction is successful and she spends a good hour laughing and splashing in the water with her baby sister. She has almost forgotten why she needed to get away from the picnic at all when Sybil suddenly stops her frolicking and stands stock-still in the shallows, squinting into the trees behind Edith. "What is it, Sybil?" she tries to follow her sister's gaze, but she can pick out nothing of interest. "Um, I'm not sure", Sybil starts to edge out of the cool water, inching towards the foliage, with Edith following in her wake. Sybil moves almost as if in a trance and Edith is somewhat alarmed at Sybil's sudden change in demeanour; she tries to move quietly so as not to spook her sister but she stumbles over a pothole, landing awkwardly on a protruding rock. Sybil doesn't even glance back at Edith's prone form, instead continuing on, into the woods, in that same dazed state.

Edith inspects the damage to her elbow; it's a little red but, otherwise, unblemished and she's almost disappointed that she has nothing to show for her tumble. She'd never admit it to anyone, least of all her sisters, but she does quite enjoy being fussed over by her mother when she's injured or sick. She's a little stung that Sybil hasn't noticed her fall and she's almost tempted to leave her sister alone in the woods, _it would serve her right for wandering off, _but she knows Mama and Papa would tell her off something dreadful, so she dutifully traipses into the woods looking for young Crawley.

She feels as though she's been wandering around in circles for hours, and she's so far in to the woods that the sunlight is sparse; she's a little worried that she'll lose her bearings if she doesn't leave soon, plus she's awfully chilly. She's about to start looking for a way out when she hears some rustling and a muffled moan. Her heart thumps wildly in her chest as tries to locate the source of the sound; images of Sybil lying prostrate and bloody on the floor assault her mind. She tries to call her sister's name but her throat is dry with fear and all she manages is a strangled sob before she fumbles through the shrubbery in the direction of the disturbance.

Edith's frantic search comes to an end when she rounds a thick oak tree and she's confronted with her sister, back against a tree, moaning against the mouth of her beloved Patrick. She watches in horrified fascination as Patrick's hands slide up Mary's sides, lovingly at first and then harder as he finds the soft swell of Mary's chest, _she's not wearing her corset _is the only information Edith can process. She's not the only one who's startled by Patrick's boldness, if Mary's squeal of surprise is anything to go by. Edith feels sick to her stomach as she watches the brazen behaviour of her sister and her cousin; she wants to run away, to pretend she never saw anything, but her feet are rooted to the floor and can't tear her eyes away from the pair.

She watches as Patrick turns his attention from her sister's lips and, instead, leaves a trail of kisses down the side of her neck, causing Mary to moan more loudly and arch up into Patrick's figure. Edith finally regains the ability to move but as she takes a step backwards, preparing to flee, her foot comes down on a spindly twig; the _crack _that follows seems to reverberate around the small clearing and she's horrified to see Mary's dark eyes fly open and lock onto her own. She's even more horrified that Patrick is too engrossed with the taste of her sister's skin to hear anything at all; Mary lets him continue for a few moments, taking great glee, as always, is having what Edith wants, before unceremoniously pushing him away. Any other time Edith would find Patrick's confused and wounded expression adorable, and she'd revel in the blush that creeps over his cheeks when he finally notices her, she'd take his fumbling attempts to speak to her as a sign of his secret love of her; now it just embarrasses and disgusts her.

Mary has no shame at all as she straightens her dress and calmly walks over to Edith, taking her sister's clammy, shaking hand in her own steady, cool one. Ironically, it's the grip of her sister's icy hand that brings Edith to her senses and allows her to calm her ragged breathing. She looks into the steely eyes of her big sister and nods dumbly when she hisses, "You didn't see anything", before allowing herself to be dragged along in her sister's hurried wake. She's vaguely aware that she can't hear Patrick following them, and that she still hasn't found Sybil, but she doesn't bother mentioning either of these things to Mary and, when they finally emerge into the sunlight, she's only mildly surprised to see Sybil sitting on the picnic rug with their mother.

Mary drops her hand light a hot potato when they near the family, shoots her one warning glance, and then lays down at the edge of the rug looking as sweet as a daisy. Edith can't fight the grimace on her face as Patrick at long last emerges from the trees himself and awkwardly seats himself by her father and the two start to jovially converse, _if only he knew,_ Edith thinks. She angles herself so she can no longer see either of them. When her mother moves away to join Mary, Edith whispers to her little sister, "Did you find what you were looking for? In the woods?" Sybil stops fiddling with the buttercups she's making into a headband and squints up at the sky before answering tranquilly, "No. It's strange; I thought I saw Mary running, can you imagine? _Mary, running_". She huffs out a little giggle before turning blue, honest eyes to Edith, "But I couldn't find her, and then I got a little scared of being in there alone, so I came back to find you, but you'd disappeared. You were gone so long I got a little worried, but Papa said Mary and Patrick had taken a walk through the woods and you'd probably joined them". With that, Sybil returns to her previous task, effectively closing the conversation.

James and Patrick remain at Downton for another ten days; Edith watches her sister and her cousin closely. She's itching to reveal to someone what she saw in the woods, and Mary knows it; Edith can see the fear etched onto Mary's icy exterior every time she innocently brings up the picnic, _she loves having this power over her stoic sibling. _She takes no pleasure, however, in Patrick's discomfort around her; his awkwardness, she knows, is not through the shyness of talking to a crush, but through the concern that any little thing he says or does may have her running to her Papa and shooting her mouth off, _she's hurt he thinks so little of her. _Sure, she'd happily hang Mary out to dry but, as much as his behaviour has hurt her, she would never dream of getting Patrick in to trouble. Her young mind refuses to acknowledge that Patrick was a willing participant in what she witnessed in the woods, instead she's convinced herself that Mary tricked him, and that Patrick has been put under some sort of spell, _why else would he willingly kiss Mary? _She's never been happier to see the back of her cousins, and Mary seems to relax a little, too, at their departure. Edith tolerates Mary's sniping and insulting remarks but, occasionally, when she's feeling particularly hateful she'll mention a stroll in the woods, or suggest a picnic; _she doesn't think she'll ever tire or seeing Mary squirm. _


End file.
